


Hands

by Watergirl1968



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eremin - Freeform, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, voices in the bone, watergirl1968
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl1968/pseuds/Watergirl1968
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little lovenote from Armin. Fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

Today while I was writing analyses, they stuck seventeen pins in your hands. They wanted to know which ones hurt the most. They made notes. They asked you if you wanted a glass of water. Then, they did it again.

Afterward, you wrapped your hands in cheesecloth, stuffed them into your work gloves and made the evening rounds in the stables. You fed the horses their vitamix and apple chunks. "Easy, Smokey," you said. Some days you call all of them Smokey, regardless of their names.

You accept what they do to you in the lab because your pain might unlock a secret. A key. I don't know how you walk down the hall each day, turn the knob, enter and offer yourself to be burned, or suffocated, or shocked.

"Easy, Smokey," you say. You're clipping Saffy to his stall so you can clean his ears. "Easy now, this won't hurt."

You are the hope of humanity, and still you muck, sweep, observe, record. The horses are not the animals. The animals are the ones in the lab. Some of them don't even call you 'Eren'. They call you 'Titan Subject 12167'. You have given them your body.

When the horses begin to sway on their feet and the lamps are dimmed, I follow you upstairs. At first we can't get your gloves off because your hands have swelled up. We unwrap the cheesecloth and stick your hands in the washbasin. I make jokes about your sausage fingers and you laugh. I'm dying inside.

I watch you in the dim light of our bed. Your dark hair. The line of your jaw. The stubble on your chin. I stare at you silently. I want you to touch me, to pull my hair, to wrench my legs apart and push inside me until I cry. I want to feel your teeth against the nape of my neck, your fingers working me so roughly that it burns, makes me throb and whine and mess your sheets. I want to ache all day tomorrow.

You slip into a fitful dream. I take your hands and place them on my cheek. I kiss the fingertips, and my tears are as hot as the need in my body.

"Armin….my pixie," you murmur.  
You have given them your body. I have given you my soul.


End file.
